You Are Not Alone

On the edge of sanity

All screwed up inside

Mentally and physically

Wrung out and, oh, so tired

Anxiety overload

Questioning so, so much

Over sensitive

Frankly raw, in need of love,

Compassion and understanding

And time to sort this out

For I’m looking over the precipice

Hoping wings will somehow sprout

As I don’t want to fall

I only wish to fly

I’m doing my very best

To soar into the sky

So don’t be mad

If I seem distant

Give me a little space

And don’t be too persistent

Or demanding of my time

I can’t be ‘there’ for now

For I just need to unwind

Until I’m through this cloud

It’s been building

For a while

Been struggling lately

To laugh and smile

Too much noise

Inside my head

Need to still

The cogs and rest

For I am human

And I have Bipolar

They call it an

Effective disorder

I am not ashamed

To admit to this

The stigma needs to end

If it indeed exists

If you’re suffering

Find your voice

Ask for help

This wasn’t your choice

Invisible disabilities

Are so misunderstood

Often overlooked

Mishandled and, sadly, judged

But support is out there

If you can but ask

This I know

So speak up fast

Once you have

You’ll feel so much better

And life will improve

You won’t regret it

Enough now said

I’ve aired my piece

And frankly it was

A blessed release

Know I’m ok

But it’s good to know who’s there

I’m not far away

Just administering some self care 🙏

Crucifying Crutches

Foot crocked

They issued crutches

Two great sticks

Made of metal and plastic

To help her walk

Or hinder, as was the case,

For she couldn’t quite carry

Her own body weight

So off she hobbled

From A&E

Her arms in braces

The crutches roaming free

But it quickly became apparent

That she needed super human strength

To power down the street

On one leg, the other bent

If only she’d known

She could’ve pre-trained at the gym

Built up some biceps

Got some guns going on

Alas, she hadn’t an inkling

This was out of the blue

Blue being the colour

Her swollen palms now had a hue

As bruises developed

And calluses formed

From pushing down

On rock hard handles that burned

And try carrying a bag

Or picking up shopping

Whilst brandishing crutches

And flamin hopping!

An impossible feat

With one foot in pain

Never mind trying not skid over

When it started to rain!

And then the momentous

Task of negotiating stairs

Gazing upwards from the bottom

Trying not to burst into tears

Should she crawl on her knees

Like a toddler, on all fours?

Could she afford to have a stairlift

Quickly installed?

And how to get down

Once up and scared of heights?

Without a parachute

Oh, f**k, Jesus Christ!

So the bum shuffle it is

One step at a time

Whilst somehow holding crutches

And not catapulting herself and flying 😳

WHY did she elect

To live in the attic?

Three floors above a shop

No lift, how tragic!

Had she predicted

She would be in this plight

She would never have chosen

To dwell virtually in the sky!

But, alas, it was tough titties

This was exactly the case

So she had to soldier on

And ultimately embrace

The sad status quo:

“Come on girl, you got this!”

“Don’t be defeated

By crucifying crutches!”

The Wheel

The Wheel

Broken once

Boundaries shattered

Faith destroyed

Nothing mattered

Nothing to live for

Estranged from God

Hopeless and abandoned

Cast out, unloved

A lifeline offered

With a price tag

She took it all the same

It was all she had

And for a while

It served its purpose

Alleviating the loneliness

But it made her nervous

Off the beaten

Track was she

In uncharted waters

Albeit set free

Free to live

And love again

A lighter heart

Anaesthetising pain

But this road was perilous

And the further she went

Into the enchanted forest

Did she begin to repent

But the Wolf Moon then rose

‘Twas the witching hour

Suddenly she was possessed

Deprived of her willpower

She succumbed to the demon

All hell broke loose

And when dawn broke

The awful truth

She was caught in a vice

No seeming way out

Only back into that pit

She not so long had climbed out

Oh Lord, what to do?

Then she heard His voice

A small word in her ear

A whisper, a barely audible noise

A call to arms

Which she acted upon

Just one syllable

But like firing a gun

This shot in the dark

Was all she had

When all was at stake

And she was woefully sad

Gripped with fear

And frustration

In a maze

No sense of salvation

Suddenly hope was restored

And she grabbed it with both hands

Prayed for a solution

And He obliged with a plan

Thus the Wheel of Fortune

Turned in her favour

And she was reconnected

With her Saviour.

Taxing Taxes

Tax doesn’t have to be taxing

When you’re organised

But if you’re like me and disorderly

You might find your brain gets fried

When you’re drowning in receipts

And you’re losing sleep

When you’re statements aren’t there

So you’re tearing out your hair

When the dates are a mess

And you need to do your best

To file them chronologically

But you don’t think logically

When you wear a million hats

How do you claim for that?

Along with the day job

You’re a Jack Of All Trades – oh God!

The poor mind boggles

And the floor can’t be seen

It’s buried under paperwork

The poor bloody trees!

If I was paperless

Would I be less stressed?

Should I fork out for Quick Books?

Would then I more give a f**k?

About maintaining my accounts?

All year round?

If I did them monthly

Would I be less grumpy?

Then I ventured to the Post Office

In need of a break

The deadline is looming

Only a fine at stake!

I wondered if I bought

Some kind of box

To store my receipts

I’d feel less lost?

A special tin

To put them in

All neat and tidy

But I was undecided

Then I found a folder

With loads of pockets

A concertina thing

And it really rocked it!

All colours of the rainbow

Were the slots

With monthly little labels

And it didn’t cost a lot

Besides not to worry

About the price

I can expense that

Which is ever so nice!

So I bought the thing

Then an old lady cried

“Oooh, where was that?”

And I pointed to the side

Of the stand

Next to the till

“It’s got loads of pockets,

I think it’s brill,

I’m doing my taxes

Always last minute!”

The old lady laughed:

“I know! Me too! Innit!”

And so we had a chuckle

A happy interlude

To break the monotony

Of the Tax Return Blues.